


to hold dear

by honestlyfrance



Series: france's kisses bingo 2020 [6]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Domestic, Falling In Love, First Kiss, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, POV Bucky Barnes, Pining Bucky Barnes, a trip to paris because your bros need to confess asap, sambucky in fall!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:21:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27559027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honestlyfrance/pseuds/honestlyfrance
Summary: Bucky Barnes didn’t want a lot of things. He’s got a really low bar of standards now, even just waking up without a threat on his life counts as a win. He doesn’t even mind if there wasn’t any more soap in the bathroom; he’s just glad he’s got a shower in the first place. Breakfast? God, he’s just glad that he could walk around a house with his guard let down.So, Bucky Barnes didn’t want a lot of things, but that’s because he didn’t have the same definition as you and me. He thinks he’s allowed to yearn; for some nice toast, a warm bed, and hot water, but he doesn’t let himselfwantto have that.It’s okay, he thinks as he pours himself some coffee. He checks the cabinets and finds the cereal, but the milk was only enough for a cup.It’s okay to want things but not have it. It happens.ORBucky Barnes was learning, the differences between wanting and having, learning to let himself love another again.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Natasha Romanov & Sam Wilson, James "Bucky" Barnes & Sharon Carter & Sam Wilson, James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers & Sam Wilson, James "Bucky" Barnes/Sam Wilson
Series: france's kisses bingo 2020 [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1847689
Comments: 14
Kudos: 70





	to hold dear

**Author's Note:**

> for an anon who wanted sambucky goodness with the word prompt: vorfreude (german, n.) - the joyful, intense anticipation that comes from imagining future pleasures. i went all out with the tropes haha. includes jealous!pining!bucky and cap!sam
> 
> also for a kiss fill: first kiss/pinching cheeks. the cousin of my other fic, to cease intimacy woohoo
> 
> i edited and posted this late at night at the brink of stress and relaxation so please be kind to my one month of work lol enjoy my loves 💕

Bucky Barnes didn’t want a lot of things. He’s got a really low bar of standards now, even just waking up without a threat on his life counts as a win. He doesn’t even mind if there wasn’t any more soap in the bathroom; he’s just glad he’s got a shower in the first place. Breakfast? God, he’s just glad that he could walk around a house with his guard let down.

So, Bucky Barnes didn’t want a lot of things, but that’s because he didn’t have the same definition as you and me. He thinks he’s allowed to yearn; for some nice toast, a warm bed, and hot water, but he doesn’t let himself _want_ to have that. _It’s okay_ , he thinks as he pours himself some coffee. He checks the cabinets and finds the cereal, but the milk was only enough for a cup. _It’s okay to want things but not have it. It happens._

“Did Steve get his shit together and go to the grocery store? We’re all out of stuff.” Sam Wilson says as he jogs into the kitchen, a good amount of sweat on him from his morning run. He’s doing his usual cooldown routine by the living room couch as he spots the milk carton in Bucky’s hands. “You making cereal?”

Bucky shakes his head and puts back the cereal carton. “Nah. Gonna cook some eggs and make toast, and Steve just left lookin' for you,” he turned back to Sam with a shy face. "You want some hot chocolate? There’s some milk left.”

Sam smiled and nodded as he stretched, and that’s all that Bucky wanted.

It’s good to think about it.

He’s sliding Sam’s mug across the counter when the man has taken a seat, sighing in content. Sam nodded in thanks and blew on his mug, his lips forming an ‘o’ Bucky has to will himself to look away from. It’s okay to want things but never have them, he thinks.

Sam looked lovely with the thin veil of sweat on him, looking up from his eyelashes, breathing steady but his heartbeat racing so loud Bucky could hear it. “You gonna make some for me?” He asks before he takes a sip, and Bucky had to swallow a dumbfounded noise.

Chuckling because his mouth _had_ to run it seems, Bucky pulls out a pan and then rummages the fridge for eggs and butter. “If you’re nice enough, maybe we could land on a compromise.” But he knows he’s gonna make some for Sam anyway. He’s got that kind of effect on him.

Sam smiled and Bucky ducked his head as he turned on the stove. The thing is, the kitchen had a great view of the city street below them, the East sunrise landing right on their kitchen island, and it’s such a shame really because Sam sits there in his purple Nike shirt of hell under the yellow light and all Bucky could do was ignore every fiber in his being beckoning him to lean over and embrace him. It’s a shame that all he could do was have this nice conversation and want nothing more with the man.

It’s not a shame really. Bucky has low standards for a good day, remember? Any day that Sam was his friend was a good day to die on.

Not even a few hours into the afternoon that Bucky finds himself being sat down by Steve Rogers in the living room for another rousing discussion about — you guessed it — _Bucky_. The man has just gotten back from the store, ten bags or so on the kitchen table counter, the fridge defrosting at the moment, and he really couldn’t help himself, huh? Steve says that he’s not as dumb as anyone thinks, says he’s the most obvious of the roommates but Bucky didn’t want anything else other than continue reading his book, so he stayed silent instead and tried to listen to the rambling.

Steve continued on and on about their living situation, how it provides them comfort and all that shit with life Post-Accords and Post-Blip, but Bucky wasn't listening, just watching time tick by on the clock. Then Bucky finds himself laughing when Steve laughed, then the man pulled a face.

“You aren’t listening again," Steve said, frowning as he crossed his arms.

“I was!” Yet Bucky's eyes were on the clock.

“I said that you were jealous,” Steve said, grinning when Bucky looked like he was caught red-handed. "That wasn't laughing matter."

“If I was jealous, I wouldn't have laughed. Which is _why_ I laughed,” Bucky stated, feigning innocence. He could feel the tips of his ears turn red. “You think I’m jealous?”

“I think you want Sam, and you wish you were Nat watching his six today,” Steve shrugged, shook his head as he moved away, and leaned into the armrest of the couch. “Kinda childish, but I swear on this, you do. I honestly thought you hate milk but you were just saving some for Sam’s sweet tooth.”

Bucky grumbled, his face scrunching. “ _That’s_ where you got it from?”

“It’s okay,” he winked, and they hear the front door open and close with a thud. “It’ll be our little secret. If it makes you feel better, he’s reminded me to buy your shampoo for you, seeing that you don’t remember its name.”

Steve gets up from the couch and moves to the kitchen as Sam takes his seat. He’s wearing his Captain America suit, a little worn and battered, and Bucky set his book down on his lap as soon as he caught sight of the gauze on his cheek.

“You okay, Cap?” Bucky asked. His fingers find themselves caressing the skin above the wound and he tries his best not to make it seem deliberate when he moves away. “How’d your day go?”

Sam sighed, and it was like heaven sighed as well. “Mission went okay. Natasha pulled me by the ear to go home, though,” and he laughs as if it was a fond memory. “She’s probably taking care of the press and the damages with Sharon as we speak. Didn’t want to go yet though.”

Bucky hummed. He hears Steve’s words, _I said that you were jealous._ He swears he’s not, but he doesn’t understand why he couldn’t smile.

“You? What have you been doing?” Sam asked, bringing Bucky out of his feelings.

“Oh, just, um, Fahrenheit 451.” And he feels himself blush as he remembered that the name on the inside of the book cover wasn’t his. _Samuel Thomas Wilson_ , it said, scrawly cursive. “Sorry, I just. I needed some new books and you just had a lot of them. I can return it if you want.”

Sam shook his head but he didn't say anything. Steve comes in and hands Sam a glass of water, and when he’s drinking slowly and steady, the condensation seeps through his gloves. Bucky fiddles with the pages when he caught sight of Sam’s idyllic state. He doesn’t want to think about it, about how slow time moved, how Bucky wanted to hold it in his hands a little bit longer.

Dinner rolls around and pasta, steak, salad, and roast chicken were on the table. Natasha comes over with Sharon as the three men’s guests and they couldn’t have been happier. All laughing and sharing stories, talking about their day, Bucky thinks this was what he always wanted. A family, he thinks.

Bucky looks over at the head of the table where Sam, Sharon, and Natasha were sharing anecdotes of their mission earlier, but Bucky has his eyes on Sam, his laughter, his smile, his gaze. Bucky’s heart twinges just a bit but then Steve was the one talking. Bucky only nodded, sharing a chuckle as Sharon steered them back to the topic. He didn’t think something could have haunted him like this before, Bucky thinks. _Especially_ when it came from Steve.

Was he actually jealous?

“A little vacation never hurt anybody," Sharon says as she twirls her fork on her plate, eyeing the way Sam shakes his head and snorts. Bucky’s brought back to reality when Steve hummed and chewed faster. Natasha sits beside Bucky, only nodding along as she reached over his side to grab the salt shaker; her elbow nudging his chest definitely brought him back to reality. “You can bring your best guy."

“I don't have one of those." Sam glanced at Steve for a second but his eyes landed on Bucky a little longer.

It sends Bucky on the edge, but in a good way. His heart fluttered as he read into it.

He’s glad Natasha grabbed his attention for that, not that she’d ever know about his feelings about Sam. They were friends, but not yet. She only glanced at him as she bites off a piece of steak from her fork then back to her food.

Then Steve starts talking again and it goes downhill for Bucky from there. “Falc, heed my advice and don’t do what I did. You deserve a vacation. Don’t let the Captain America title hold you back on getting some well-earned peace and quiet,” then his hand is directing at Bucky and it’s just getting nerve-wracking by then. “Look, okay, you vibrate if you don’t move, I know,” and he sends the whole room chuckling and Sam gasping. “You can bring Bucky!”

Bucky choked on his water. “ _What_?” he spat, Natasha suddenly laughing as she put a hand to her full mouth. He smacked her hair and she squeaked at that.

Sam glanced at Bucky wiping his mouth. “Wait, this is really happening?” and he looked towards Steve with an ‘ _I’m gonna kill you_ ’ look he only reserved for crazy-ass plans with less than no regrets.

“A little vacation never hurt anybody,” Natasha echoes as she takes a sip of her wine. Then, she’s chuckling when Bucky smacked her hair again, all in the wrong places now. “I haven’t seen you more relaxed than when we were having a motorcycle chase by the Seine,” she continued as she fixed her hair, the table calming down. “Seriously, Sam, you got weird ideas for relaxing. Maybe Bucky can straighten you out. Look at him, he’s chubby from eating all of the food in the house, I swear to God, James.” Just for that, she poked him in the ribs; Bucky squirming.

Bucky muttered under his breath, “Oh my God,” and then he’s running a hand down his face, still avoiding her nudges.

Sharon only hummed, an elbow on the table and another nudging Sam’s hand as she spoke, “You can go back to that little chateau in France,” it was the tamest on the table somehow, but Sam’s looked like he just saw a ghost; keeping his sputters to himself as he gulped down the last of his water. “It’s got enough airspace if you want to fly and archery for the adrenaline.”

“And bring Bucky,” Steve adds because he’s a little shit, and he grinned like one.

“Bucky doesn’t look too keen on that,” Sam says, and he ducks his head when Bucky meets his eyes.

Bucky snorts. “I might be calling you out for finishing all the orange juice but I can be civil for a weekend,” he said as he took a bite; just to shut himself up.

“Oh no, you’re gonna take a whole week,” Steve says as he takes another hefty serving of pasta and Bucky gives him the stink eye. “I need my alone time too.”

“A little domesticity never hurt anybody, Barnes,” Natasha said, smiling a little too confident at Sam. Sam groaned and leaned into Sharon who only smiled. “I’ll help you both _pack_.”

Sam sighed and then turned flustered. “I don’t have a say in that now, do I?”

Natasha shakes her head and that was the end of that topic. Sam was going to vacation on a nice little private property that used to be a safe house somewhere in Loire Valley and Bucky will be there to make sure he actually relaxes. For the whole evening, it was all Bucky could think about, and for once, he was actually looking forward to having this.

He wasn’t technically wanting this but he’s sure as hell not complaining.

In fact, it was the only thing Bucky could think about the whole time before they needed to go. They were leaving the next day on Saturday evening to catch the sunrise in Paris on Sunday morning, and honestly what the fucking hell was Natasha on to grant such a cliche. To Bucky, it was unlike her; to Sam, it was exactly the type of bullshit she was gonna do to him. A whole week in France was just what Bucky needed to actually start crying about his crush; actually, he could start crying right now.

The bedroom Bucky resides in was right across Sam’s and he could hear the muffled conversations in the man’s room. He’s curled up in a ball on his bed, his cat, Alpine, resting by his feet. Now he wasn’t lying about thinking about the trip. God, he’s just dying imagining it.

It was the start of October and he knew the trees would be changing color by then, and he’s beginning to smile just thinking about whatever he was gonna wear when Sam and he would bike to the nearest farmer’s market and pick out some products to make dinner. Bucky’s not trying to get his hopes up but he hopes Sam would wear those deep blue colors so they could unconsciously match clothes.

He may not ever have that but it’s nice to think about.

Sam and Natasha laugh in the other room and Bucky buries his head even deeper into his pillows. He hasn’t started packing as Natasha insisted, but he’s sure as hell would rather fall asleep to Sam’s laugh than wake up from this dream.

It's somewhen before midnight that Bucky was woken up from his slumber. He heard the click of his door and he was wide awake. His hand instinctively grabbed his gun resting on his bedside table, but he caught sight of Natasha opening the door, Steve and Sharon following along, the light of the hallway as their halo.

Bucky murmured, his words slurred with sleep as his hands set the weapon back on the table. "There’s no fucking way Stevie is gonna help me pack." he rubbed his eyes awake as he could feel Alpine settling in his lap.

Steve frowned, whispering. "Rude."

Sharon slapped Steve’s arm and turned on the bedroom lights. "Cool room."

It wasn't cool as Sam's though, which looked like an actual human being was living in it. Steve's room only looks nice because it had his art strangling the space. Bucky only had a bed, desk drawer, and a chair pushed up to the corner of the room. There was a tiny table where he laid down newspapers and his novels. On the other side was his closet and a few star stickers designed as a few constellations, but other than that, he only had a photobooth picture leaning against his lamp as his own things.

“What's the dress code?" Bucky yawned, petting his cat as Natasha made a beeline to his closet.

“Turtlenecks and sweaters. Some shirts for mornings maybe, but that's what I'll give you," She says and Sharon snickered, pulling out Bucky’s duffel bag from under the bed.

Steve plopped down onto the chair in the corner, fanning himself with a book. "Sam wants to lie on the grass and breathe. Any soft moments ideas to match?"

Bucky stood up and snatched the book from the man's hands, immediately smoothing out the paperback cover. “I'll bring a book."

“Yeah, but this is like your honeymoon now," And Steve gets a smack from Bucky for that one.

"No, it's not!" Bucky hissed into Steve's ear, his eyes darting towards his door, hoping Sam wouldn't hear. If Steve knew about his little… _crush_ , he knew it’ll all go to hell quite soon with his noisy mouth.

Sharon had pulled open the bag and has now put in the clothes Natasha has laid out. "To be honest, Sam is very excited, Barnes," she smiled as she said it, then she plopped down the bed, kicking the bag to the end of the bed. "He was all smiley when we packed. Bet he's dreaming as he sleeps."

Bucky was too just a while ago.

“Whatever,” Bucky grunted, raising his arms in surrender. “Just nothing stupid, okay?”

Sharon watches Alpine paw at the bag, lightly shoving her away. “No shame in being excited, Barnes. Seven days with your Captain?” the grin on her soothed Bucky. “It won’t hurt. He sees the way you look at him. And with that, I’ll volunteer to take care of Al and partner up with Romanoff. You two just enjoy yourselves and worry about nothing.”

Natasha flung a pair of boxers at Bucky’s head. “Yeah, James, have some fun.”

Bucky feels like dying right there.

It was the witching hour in the apartment, their guests are long gone and the men are in their beds but Bucky couldn’t sleep. How could he? He’s a bundle of nerves and he’s afraid the butterflies in his stomach would somehow get out, then the whole world would know. Bucky never knew he could have this — _want_ this so badly. He’s nervous about actually falling in love on the trip.

Yet, he decided. For a century, he never had things. For now, he’d let himself enjoy the high.

Feeling light as a feather, Bucky has pulled the curtains closed and let the light of his phone be his lighthouse. He’s got his orange scarf around his shoulders as he dances in the dark, his lips curving into a smile whenever another image pops in his head. He’s waltzing on air and he doesn’t feel like bowing until he’s leaving for Paris. Bucky never felt so giddy that his body had to react to it like some helpless romantic.

And maybe he was helpless, a little too romantic. He’s thinking about drinking Pumpkin Spiced Lattes in a cozy cafe with Sam as they catch up on their separate missions. He’s thinking about running in the rain with Sam and laughing so hard they’ve dropped their umbrellas at the end of the street. He’s thinking of jumping into leaf piles in the woods and watching the whole world on the highest tree with Sam resting on his knee. Bucky’s thinking, and thinking, and thinking, just dizzy with giddiness.

Bucky’s got wishes, but he didn’t think they could be granted. It’s a goddamn cavity to his heart but he’s licking lollipops one after the other like the sweet-tooth that he was.

As he slid down the door, he wrings his hands and bit on his bottom lip, staring into the darkness of his room. He could see the duffel bag on the floor by the foot of his bed and he’s got his clothes for tomorrow laid folded on his chair. A mustard sweater and his brown coat was his outfit, and he was back thinking about Sam’s green coat that swallowed him so snugly it looked like the man was being cuddled with meadows. Bucky was just feeling warm in his cheeks just thinking about their color scheme.

A _possible_ color scheme, but a man could dream.

Dreams are all that Bucky has. Whenever the frost sets and he’s deep in winter, he’s drifting into sleep, harmless thoughts as his hands leave his person. He’s red all over, but dreams? It’s in Bucky’s sleep that he can be at peace. No one hurts him when he’s picturing himself standing in the middle of Brooklyn, street to street covered in red and orange dried leaves that only make him feel at home. No one is there to wipe him all over if he’s stuck in place looking over at the sunrise enveloping him.

It’s a red that Bucky is at peace with.

Maybe that’s why he’s so excited about spending time with Sam in France in the fall.

Bucky smiled as he bit on his knuckles. “Oh my God,” he murmured into the darkness, then he went into bed and let sweet dreams lull him into sleep.

And as the sunlight basked the room in the dim yellow morning, Bucky felt as if Paris kissed him awake right on his bare shoulder blade. Even walking down the hallway with his attire for the trip, he heard happy music play in his ears and the smell of lavender wafting in the air as Sam passed by him after taking his shower — Bucky never felt so helpless.

Locking the bathroom door and sliding against it wasn’t Bucky’s usual morning routine, but dammit sometimes being a little too in love with the person you told yourself that you couldn’t have could take a lot out of you. The room smelled like him too. _Fuck._

He’s splashing water to his face as he tells himself to get over this. It’s not like he wanted to be like this. It’s just too much for him. One thing at a time. His friendship with Sam is one of the greatest things happening to him and he was going to do everything in his power to be _that_ friend. Who also wanted to kiss said friend silly but still.

One more thing much more horrible than almost gawking at your friend’s bare chest as they exit the shower was having a crisis over wondering if it was a childish crush or an “I love you and I want to marry you” scenario as you walk down the hallway again and hearing wedding bells as you do. Bucky swears he’s gonna die until he sees Sam and Steve moving about in the living room, and wouldn’t you know it? Sam was wearing his green coat.

Bucky’s gone now, his ghost is all there is.

Sam was carrying Bucky’s duffel bag and set it beside his own suitcase. “There’s my man. All dressed, I see,” he said, voice smooth as silk, slinging an arm around Bucky’s shoulders. Bucky noticed that Sam had a new gauze, a few band-aids on his face, and bandages wrapped around his knuckles. “I was thinking about getting some brunch down the street then we can see that movie you wanna see.”

Bucky’s knees almost buckled, but he held his strength, leaned into Sam’s body, and hooked a finger around his belt loop; he only hoped that his hand was lax because a rigged hand near Sam’s ass wasn’t something he could explain on the seven-hour flight to Paris.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s less hassle, I think,” and Bucky pulled out his best smile. “That sounds nice too, we could kill time before we go to the airport.”

“A date then,” Steve said as he stood half-asleep by the kitchen island, picking up an apple that he washed in the sink.

“ _No_ ,” Bucky was quick to say. Scoffing as he straightened up, “Steve, shut up.”

Sam shook his head at that, smiling. “He’s just joking, James.”

“Still.”

“Have fun on your not-really-a-date thing then,” Steve raised his arms in surrender, tossing Bucky the apple to which he caught. “You’ll go straight to JFK?”

Sam’s laugh is right on Bucky’s neck and the man tries not to whine. “We’ll come back around three.”

“Oh? Why won’t Steve chaperone us? He’ll be like our valet and driver,” Bucky was quick to say so he got a jab in the ribs from the man. He’s now behind Sam with his hands on his shoulders, Sam smiling at him. “Jesus— I’ll take care of him. Get him wasted. All that self-care stuff.”

Steve snorted and nudged Bucky’s luggage on the floor with his foot. “Just get the hell out of here before I cry.”

Sam turned to Bucky and smiled teasingly. “He already misses us. We’re just gonna go out to eat some breakfast,” he clicked his tongue at that. “I already forgot Steve’s face though. Who’s this man in the living room?”

By that comment, Steve’s already pushed Sam and Bucky into the street with all of their things: a suitcase, a duffel bag, two backpacks, their passports and tickets, and Bucky's apple. Steve wasn’t fond of showing his face outside so he wasn’t going to chaperone them, but as Sam and Bucky loitered by the steps to the apartment, just sharing an apple Bucky had split open with his bare hands, the man got down now changed into jeans and a graphic t-shirt.

Sam bit into his half of the apple, leaning against the railing as Steve passed by him. “Want an apple, fanboy?” he asked, eyeing the Falcon merchandise Steve was wearing.

“Can I sell it on eBay?” Steve asked, and Sam kicked him at the heel.

Bucky laughed and brought his coat closer to his body, trailing behind the two men as they walked to Sam’s car parked two houses down. He was pulling on Sam’s suitcase with his duffel bag on top as Sam and Steve carried their carry-ons; Bucky could hear the hum of the two men’s conversation as he finished the half of his apple. After putting all of their stuff in the car, Steve volunteered to stay put, letting the two wander off into their street for breakfast in the shops.

With a skip to his step, Sam grabbed Bucky by the arm and dragged them into their usual bakery, a cozy little thing with a huge window to the kitchen so the smell of freshly baked goods wafted in the shop. Bucky was quick to buy a basket of assorted chocolate mini muffins while Sam bought some breakfast toasts fresh from the kitchen. As Sam brings out his wallet to pay, he gives Bucky a glance and grin that sends his heart running. Bucky leaned against the other end of the counter with crossed arms, and needless to say, he always loved their little domestic routines.

The next stop was the pizzeria next door where they bought two boxes of cheese pizza (“ _Steve, you bland fuck. Add some mushrooms for Christ’s sake.” “James, you’re grosser._ ” _“Sam, this isn’t about you.”_ ), and by the time they exited the shop, their arms were linked and Bucky was cracking a joke that made Sam laugh so hard he almost tripped. Just their usual morning routine, Bucky thinks.

On the way to the movie theatre, Bucky was sent out to the coffee house on the next street, getting his extremely-caffeinated-it’s-probably-drugs drink and Sam’s extremely-sugary-he’ll-feel-it-for-hours drink to go. On the drive, Bucky sat in the backseat as Sam tinkered with the radio, Steve with his hand on the wheel and the other carrying two slices of pizzas that are going straight to his mouth. Sam leaned back and Bucky popped in a whole mini muffin in the man’s mouth, muffling as he chewed. Bucky tried not to smile so hard as he drank his coffee.

“Do you want me to join?” Steve asked in between sipping Bucky and Sam’s drinks, halfway to their destination. “Is it another sci-fi thing? Because I can’t deal with another one.”

“Psychological horror,” Sam spoke, closing back their first empty pizza box. “Sorry, Steve. This is an ‘us’ thing you never wanted to be a part of.”

Steve shrugged as he handed back Bucky’s drink to Sam. Sam took one sip and cringed, giving it back to Bucky. He snorted and took back his drink, finishing it all off in one gulp. It burned his tongue a bit but anything was better than focusing too much on the fact that Sam’s lips were on his coffee cup.

He can want things, but that doesn’t mean he _has_ to have them.

As soon as they finished their pastries, Steve dropped them off at the movies and decided to stay in the car and finish off their left-overs. And just to, you know, torture himself, Bucky let Sam grab his arm as they crossed the street and buy their tickets. Inside, they chose the seats far away from the screen at the top, and Sam only rested his hand against Bucky’s hand on the armrest. Bucky sighed and leaned into his seat as the previews reeled away, hoping Sam wouldn’t hear his heart hammer like crazy.

The whole time the movie rolled, they were exchanging quips and comments, mostly sharing any theories or any plot twists they expected. Anyone else, they probably wouldn’t have understood it — the friendship — the _intimacy_ within watching a movie. Steve never understood why the two should be so chatty, but the two knew why. Something to talk later in the car, never gonna let the conversation dwindle.

And that’s what they did on the drive to JFK, with Sam now driving, Bucky in the passenger, and Steve in the backseat still drowsy with sleep. The ending was still settling in Bucky’s skin as Sam goes on about a possible plot for a sequel, and somehow Bucky just falls in love a little bit more.

Sam has a smile on his face as he talks, commenting and arguing on Bucky’s own words. It’s an easy conversation with banter and intelligent exchanges with the occasional joke and the sinister what-ifs and anyone who overheard can confidently conclude that that was just their entire dynamic. They bounce back from each other, flowing into easiness, and grow grim with shared experiences.

Bucky tried to guess where the whole movie was set but he knew it was a lie, and Sam knew it, sharing his own lie of a guess. They both knew what it was, it was just nice to see the other riled up and in disbelief.

“ _Ahh_ ,” Sam blurted as he kept his eyes on the road. Bucky didn’t even hesitate, just took the last muffin in the basket and placed it near the man’s mouth to grab it.

Sam on the other hand had leaned forward and bitten into it, crumbs falling onto the gear shift. Bucky let his arms dangle as he continued to talk, and by the time he was done Sam had finished the muffin.

Steve cleared his throat in the backseat. “Boyfriends,” he whispered, Bucky smacking his knee and Steve kicking his seat in retort.

They left around six in the evening. If anyone asked, the plane ride was the most excruciating thing Bucky had to ever do with Sam. Considering the many instances that Bucky had to patch up Sam’s wounds — so intimate beside each other in the cramped bathroom, one gentle hand and one firm one tending to bandage up his partner, _his chérie_ , breath mixing in with each other it’s almost suffocating feeling close and so far away — it was a surprise to Bucky that this one was the most he hated himself.

It was during the second hour that Sam had finished his book and handed it over to Bucky. “Wake me up when you finish this, will you?” he whispered, and his breath trickled on Bucky’s bare neck.

He fell asleep snuggling into Bucky’s shoulder, arms crossed across his chest, breath steady and slow. Bucky only stared at the sleeping man beside him and he was ready to have his heart be reset with the way it was beating like crazy. He only tries so hard to finish the book in the remaining five hours, but as Sam said, wake him up when he’s finished. Sam woke up on his own around the last hour of the flight, and Bucky’s barely finished the eleventh chapter of the novel.

“You’ve literally read the, _huh_ , book before,” Sam spoke in between yawns, fixing the sleeves of his sweater, his head still resting on Bucky’s left shoulder. Bucky wondered how that was ever comfortable with his prosthetic and Sam’s wound. “You’re still there?”

Bucky grumbled after realizing he was staring too long. “Don’t judge me, pigeon,” he muttered, and Sam only hummed as he went back to sleep.

The drive towards the chateau was also in it to make Bucky suffer. They were both taken in with a chauffeur provided by money their friends pooled in, driving in on a classy red convertible with the vinyl roof down, the sunrise a golden blanket tinged with pink clouds. As they drove through endless fields in Southern France, they were served wine in glasses, their knees knocking against each other as they drank in the backseat. Classical music blasted through the radio, and Sam and Bucky had fun pretending they were these rich and fancy friends touring Europe.

“Air is fresh as fuck here,” Bucky somehow blurted out, and Sam only popped open their next champagne bottle, almost spilling it on their laps.

Sam took a gulp straight from the bottle then poured some in his glass, almost spilling as the road became a little rocky. “You said it. I could actually smell what’s in front of me,” they laughed as he poured some in Bucky’s glass. “New York air is _shit_.”

“Champagne is nicer, too.” And Bucky took a sip to stop his mouth from spewing more stupid things.

Sam clinked their glasses together, a smile so bright Bucky could feel himself lean against it as if he was a sunflower, and maybe he was with the way he’s attracted with the warmth that exudes from the man beside him. It’s nicer this way too, shoulders against each other as the wind whips past them. They wore matching sunglasses, and Bucky is thoroughly amused by Sam going through the champagne and wine choices in the car.

“Careful, sweetheart, it’s only free,” Bucky said as Sam poured more into Bucky’s glass.

Sam had a leg under him and another on Bucky’s lap as he snuggled himself in the corner, sunglasses tipped down as he looked over at the green fields. “Take a picture of me, Buck,” he said, and Bucky had immediately brought out his phone and took several pictures of the man sipping champagne as if he was born to do so in the first place.

“I’ll send them to you later,” Bucky said as he let himself grab the bottle to pour Sam’s glass.

Sam bent his knees over Bucky’s lap to lean over. “‘Kay,” he said, and he grabbed Bucky’s wrist to tip the bottle in his mouth, their faces so close that Sam's ear brushed against Bucky’s cheek.

If Sam asked, the red that graced Bucky’s cheeks was from the sun. It was kind of accurate though.

There must be something that Bucky had done to deserve this. Maybe it was the universe apologizing for all the trauma he had to go through over the past century, and hey, he wasn’t complaining. It was overwhelming, is all. He’s seriously doubting himself and his rules because apparently, he had one of those.

Every time he looked at Sam, it was as if he was reminded of all the things he couldn’t have before, all the love he couldn’t offer before. It’s difficult just thinking about it yet, Sam was here right beside him and Bucky has the urge to drink up all of him like the champagne they had on the drive over. He’s got that urge to grab him by the face and kiss him silly in the car but he’s honestly doubting if there was a partition here.

Once they got to the chateau, a gorgeous thing that stood so high and wide on a large portion of land that it looked very much like a castle, vines growing on the walls as if it was eating it all up, they soon set up and got the first two bedrooms they found that were across each other. Call them sentimental, but it just seemed a little wrong if their rooms were even beside each other rather than across.

They dumped their luggage in their respective rooms and shed off their coats and shoes, sliding down the second-floor (The first floor in Europe, goddamn.) as if they were kids again, shoving each other to be the first one to get to the end of the long hallway. They found out there were four more rooms that way, and the ones they have chosen were the smallest. Quick to their rooms to grab their things, they raced each other to get the biggest room at the end of the hallway with a stunning view of the backyard — the garden, the pool, and the firepit — and the biggest bathroom.

They squeezed through the door and Sam immediately tackled Bucky to the floor, breathless and laughing. “Wait, wait— We can just share the bed,” he spoke, moving to better straddle his hips, pinning Bucky’s arms above his head. “Y’know, since this wouldn’t be the first time we’ve done that anyway. It’s big enough for like three people. Well, considering you’re like carrying two people, then us.”

Bucky blew a raspberry at him but he knew his heart was screaming at the idea of sharing a bed with Sam for a whole week.

Seriously, what has he done to deserve this? He hadn’t even _thought_ of sharing a bed!

By the time they’ve settled their luggage at the end of the bed, they were quick to go downstairs to skate across the whole house as a tour. It was fun, really — Bucky almost tripped when Sam had to stop and admire the windows and Sam was laughing at how Bucky was completely mesmerized by the lighting functions. By the time two hours had passed, they were putting back their shoes on upstairs so they could see if they could use the firepit later for a sleepover under the stars.

Bucky had let himself have this moment, trailing behind Sam, thinking about how wonderful this all was. It makes him happy, and it felt so good.

They were walking down the cobble path steps when Bucky realized something.

Sam was already at the fire pit, ways past Bucky. It was a nice little level in the middle of the garden, purple bougainvillea encircling the background of the couches and chairs very nicely. The stone pit was already filled with some logs and some more at the side, covered with a black metal lid and rod to stir the fire. Bucky jogged to reach Sam, and they both stood before the firepit to look out into the fields, lavenders accenting the stair path towards the pool quite nicely. Out in the open were red poppies as far as the eye can see, and all that was left was the green grass covered with red and orange leaves swept by the harsh winds from yesterday.

Sam sighed, his shoulders relaxed as he nodded towards the far bottom of the field where the pool is. “Sunflowers aren’t in bloom. Shame we missed it, huh?” he said, his head tilting to the side. He was smiling though, spotting the expansive field that was theirs for the week.

“Then why am I lookin’ at one?” Bucky blurted, too confident to be jittery. Sam turned back to him and Bucky grinned and sent a wink his way, making the man stare for a bit then snort and look back towards the field.

Bucky realized that he stopped yearning and began to want Sam so much he was starting to fall in love.

It hurts him so much just thinking about it.

Sam nodded off towards the distance. “Did you bring your swim trunks?”

“It’s cold out,” Bucky replied. “And you have bandages.”

“Fine,” Sam pouted as he began to make his way down the steps. Then he smirked. “We’ll go in the night.”

When Sam looked back and smiled at him, Bucky leaned into it, like a sunflower to the sun, he’d be the flower the man was looking forward to.

Everything that Bucky let him yearn for, he now understood it was “want”, never truly believed that they were the two same things, just one more intense than the other. It’s incredible, really, because all this time, he thought to yearn was just to have a thought, when in actuality, it was much more than that. It was to see Sam Wilson stand near the pool after a long day under the sun, thick with sweat and breathless from running in the fields, the sun dipping low it’s practically bruise-like purple as the sun sits honey-yellow; then he’s stripping, down to his boxers and he’s sinking, down into the pool and wading in the cool water as if he’s all peace and nothing sorry. Bucky wanted to follow so badly, like the stars chasing the end of the sun, wanted, wanted, _wanted._ He’s apologizing to himself for not realizing sooner.

In the hearth of Bucky’s chest sits a fire he never let stir. He’s sinking, like a ship struck by an iceberg, lost at sea. Drowning, like he had the right to. Bucky’s in awe, breathless as he lets himself watch the water seem to glow within the lights and illuminate something dark and beautiful in Sam’s brown eyes.

Sitting tongue-tied and star-struck, his fingers ache to get close, to caress Sam’s skin and kiss the spot he’s left a bruise. _I’ve hurt you, I’ve hurt you, I’ve hurt you_ , aching just wondering how an incredible man had let him have this, let him open doors he never knew he had. Sam had trusted him, with all his heart, mind, and soul, it’s a wonder, a remarkable thing really, that makes Bucky feel like all of his healing was all worth it to be able to see this kind of beauty with a kind of appreciation he set out for himself. Like a sunset, Bucky’s settling in, appreciating every bit his body had the honor to touch.

It’s years ago, he thinks, the pain, the trauma. _It’s been years_. Bucky woke up to a war and slept in between, stuck in a space that is different from his own, like he’s standing left to his body, like a shadow that only follows. Sears, like a burn, he’s blasted with the ache, of losing and losing, all over again. He lets himself want because it was near to making a choice, and he’s crying in his head thinking, _Have I let myself live like this for years past me?_

Only if he knew that it was more to that, that he _did_ have the choice. He chose to take the bathroom last in the mornings because he liked waking up with his housemates already up and about. He chose to cook breakfast in the morning when the milk was all gone instead of going hungry waiting for cereal that never came. He chose to wear soft clothes for the day because he knew that he likes soft things and his body deserved nice, soft, warm things. He chose, he chose, _he chose_ , because he wanted, he had preferences, and he loved, he loved so _goddamn much_ it’s hurting him just realizing how much of his recovery had placed him at this moment, watching, wondering, if he had enough love to take care of the man before him.

Bucky loved himself, let himself want things he knew he deserved, had said no to the things he didn’t want. He knows more now, a little too late, he doesn’t think that. What mattered now was that he _knew_ what he wanted, what he wanted to love. He’s on his knees praying, Sam Wilson’s name on his lips, etched like a tattoo, knowing that it takes all his faith to keep a man like that.

He’s singing praises as he sat on the edge of the pool crisscrossed, wondering if this was purgatory, in between hell and heaven just suffering. Sam comes by his knees, presses his wet fingers against his jeans, the touch just sending Bucky into a state of electricity, a jolt to his spine and another to his heart.

The man grinned, said, “ _Want a swim?_ ” and yes, Bucky wanted to, deciding that this was good for him, for his body, for his _heart_.

“I’ll go,” he whispered, like a goddamn child who didn’t know what he was doing, unsure about the world, and it sucks, because it’s been six months after the Blip and he’s happy here, in his new life and new everything, yet he’s hesitating.

Because of _what?_

Sam pouted, set his drenched hand against Bucky’s sweater, soaking it wet. “Oh. Were you too close?” he asked, but he’s grinning. Not sorry. He’s setting his cheek against Bucky’s knee and sighing, his eyelashes so pretty in the light of the pool. “The house is empty. Stay here, James.” and he rubs his thumb against his knee in a circle as if the proximity wasn’t enough.

Bucky sucked in a breath. “Okay,” he whispered, his hands suddenly not knowing what to do.

The champagne they drank must haven’t worn off yet, because Bucky used the alcohol as an excuse as to why Sam was suddenly wrapping his fingers around the hem of his sweater, desperate, maybe, but gentle. Bucky couldn’t help himself, lifted his arms as Sam had slipped it right off and tossed it aside. His eyes were wide, curious, and Bucky had followed his gaze, his curiosity.

Sam’s hands were on Bucky’s biceps, trails of water dripping down to the man’s bare elbows. Bucky’s cold hands were unbuttoning his jeans, and then he’s pushing them down, kneeling, as Sam swam backward and watched. By the time Bucky had shoved aside his articles of clothing, Sam had submerged, and Bucky dove into the six-feet depth of the pool to meet him.

The lights illuminate the pool, like a glowing cyan sky that moves at every touch. They’re looking at each other underwater, smiles so subtle you had to see it in their eyes. Sam then sets off from the surface of the pool to resurface, Bucky en-suite, then they’re gasping, the cool air of nighttime sending goosebumps down their spine.

Sam laughed as he yelped at the icy air. “God! This was a bad idea, shit!” he yelled into the silent night. Bucky laughed and kept himself afloat, now an arm’s length away from the man. “Why did you come here, why! It’s so cold now!”

“Are you saying it’s my fault?” Bucky argued, and he’s got a mouthful of water from when Sam splashed him. “Oh, oh! So that’s how you wanna play? You brought me in here in the first place!” Then Sam was swimming away, but it was too late; Bucky tackled the man in a hug, never letting go, only bringing him closer, back to chest. Sam didn’t even struggle, only laughed as they tried to keep their combined weight afloat, and with Bucky’s strength, it was no feat.

Whining as Bucky pinched his woundless cheek, Sam was trying to turn around to face the man, holding onto his broad shoulders as he does so. “H-Hey,” he whispered, and his breath was cold against Bucky’s neck. “I thought you were s-supposed to help me relax.”

“Your bandages,” Bucky whispered.

“Waterproof,” Sam spoke, shrugging. “Maybe. If not, carry me then.”

“If you wanted me to carry you around, you could’ve just asked,” Bucky said, switching his hands so they could rest under Sam’s thighs that were now around his waist. Sam smiled at that, taking his time to lean back so he could float. “You’re enjoying yourself, cheekbones?”

Sam giggled at the nickname, closing his eyes as he struggled to keep afloat, Bucky’s hands now on his hips. “Yup,” he popped, yelping when he felt himself lose balance. Bucky kept his hand on Sam’s back and leg, guiding the man to float, then the man closed his eyes easily, relaxed, and nothing sorry in his head.

As Sam eased himself into calmness, Bucky was at his side watching this all unfold. It was a pretty sight, hands so gentle and close to each other it’s intimate. Sam trusted Bucky to keep him like this, to help him figure out a time where he could relax by himself. It meant so much to him.

Sam’s trust in him sent shivers down Bucky’s spine, then he felt himself leaning in, watching, pondering, if he could have this. Capture those lips that were begging to be kissed, pouted, and looked so soft. Bucky held his breath as he neared the man’s face.

When Sam could feel Bucky’s gaze on him, he opened his eyes. “What’chu lookin’ at, Sergeant?” he asked, barely above a whisper and below Bucky’s lips.

Bucky held his breath, leaning back a little. “Nothin’. Just something pretty.”

Sam hummed at that. “Sure you didn’t just catch your reflection in the water?” and that made Bucky smile.

And then Bucky hears it: Sam’s words, unknowingly and effortlessly stealing his heart. It’s not fair how Sam could make all these quips for fun while Bucky’s tripping over his own feet trying to make it sound like that he wasn’t falling in love. Sam turns Bucky into a mess with a single breath and it never becomes fair because Bucky wants that to happen to him too.

 _Does he like me too?_ Bucky thinks as Sam closes his eyes again. Love was a strong word, and adore was right on the tip of his tongue, but it seemed cruel when said unrequited.

When Sam dipped himself lower into the depths of the pool, Bucky thinks, _God, do I want him to love me. Let me hold him. Let me love, Sam._

It’s there. Bucky can’t deny it.

It took him about a day to fall in love with one Sam Wilson, it wasn’t even a surprise.

 _It was bound to happen._ And Bucky’s left thinking about all the people Sam’s met and how they were also enraptured by his presence. _Who wouldn’t?_ But he thinks that with him, it was different.

No one knew of the minute details of Sam Wilson. All they knew was the insignificance of the lesser details that to Bucky were absolutely brilliant. He knew Sam liked his coffee with two tablespoons of sugar with an extra sprinkle. He knew that Sam’s left winter glove was a bit stretched out from when he tried to sneak candy inside of it to the movies. He knew that he liked his glass to the left top of his table because of “manners.” He knew that he liked the feeling of facing the window with the wall at his back because “It’s comforting.” See, Bucky knew all of these things so he could do whatever he can to make them so, and only now that he realizes why he does these things with minimal teasing.

“It’s cold,” Sam winced, then he’s swimming away, arms crossed together as he waddled up to the shallow part of the pool, away from Bucky. He didn’t even realize Sam left his hands. It must’ve always been like that. “Why’d you come in? Now I f-feel bad for leaving you and your body temp in the pool.”

“You know I did it because I love you,” Bucky said, as he followed Sam, the water now right at his chest. “Besides, I promised to get you wasted. That means I also got to make sure you don’t die while you’re at it.”

Sam snorted as he tucked in his chin to his chest, sitting on the steps of the pool. He’s in the shallow part now, the water right at his waist as he sat on the first step. Bucky could see him shivering, teeth chattering as the next France breeze swept by, trying his best not to show it. Once Bucky got close enough, now kneeling at the steps, he’s bringing Sam into his arms.

“Fuck, Sam, you’re freezing,” Bucky murmured, rubbing his hands up and down Sam’s arms. Sam only took in a sharp breath as he leaned his head into Bucky’s neck. “I’m gonna carry you inside and stoke in that nice fireplace in the living room.”

“We were s-supposed to sleep under the s-stars,” Sam whispered, curling into himself.

Bucky’s eyes softened. “It’s okay. We always have tomorrow. They’re not going anywhere without you.”

With no verbal protest from Sam, Bucky scoops him up bridal style and begins his walk to the house, leaving their clothes by the pool. Sam only squirmed a bit, to get some heat from whatever he can from Bucky, but they both knew he ran cold. Like running water under a frozen lake, he drowns life into coldness, but for Sam, the mere piercing chill from whenever he gets touched is comfort. Bucky never understood it until he’s setting Sam on the floor beside the hearth of the fireplace, the man’s fingers only curling tighter around his biceps.

Maybe he liked being close too.

Bucky unfurls Sam’s fingers around his arms only to get them around his hands, and he sighed, saying, “Once I get you warm enough I’ll run you a nice hot bath, okay?” and that gets a stuttered breath from the man. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

Once the fire was raging and Bucky had tucked Sam in with all of the throw pillows and couch fleeces he could find, Sam was already half-asleep, under the bundle of comforting things his friend had gotten for him. He’s almost snoring, no more shivering, and he’s beginning to dream when Bucky jolted him awake as he tried to carry him again.

“No, no, I’m okay now,” Sam said, a hand to Bucky’s chest.

“You sure? Passing on a piggyback ride is what Steve will tell you not to do,” Bucky jokes, but Sam only nodded seriously.

“I’m good, Buck,” he whispered, then he’s on his feet, tossing the pillows aside as he stretches his arms and legs. He’s not even bothered by the way his boxers were riding up his thigh and stuck to his skin. “You can go take a shower first though. I wanna get under the blankets for a bit.”

Bucky nodded, and when his heart deflates at the sight of Sam slowly going up the stairs, it doesn’t take a detective to figure out why it was so. Once the thought has entered, it makes a home in his head. Only nice things like Sam Wilson get to be in it for long periods of time.

Sam waddled towards the ottoman bench at the end of the bed, already taking the blanket from beside him. Without a single word, Bucky made a beeline for the bathroom, roomy and illuminated with a bright yellow glow, then he closed the door, leaving the man in his lonesome.

 _Something changed_ , Bucky thinks. _Was it because I said I loved him? I only meant it as a friend_. As he finishes rinsing the shampoo from his hair and begins drying off, he’s still running the memory of the night in his head, both content and conflicted at it. Maybe it’s just him, but he really believed that it was both a successful and terrible night; he just couldn’t explain why.

Bucky unlocked and opened the door then began to run Sam a hot bath, letting the water run in the background as he searched around for any bath things he could use. “Sam,” he called out as he kneeled by the cabinets. “Bath’s getting ready.”

When Sam came bundled in the blankets, Bucky could only see the strongest man he knew become so vulnerable for him. It made him stop for a second.

Sam dropped the blanket as soon as he saw the size of the bathtub, immediately settling inside before it was even full. “We should’ve just hung out in this jacuzzi,” he said, sighing in content as he pushed a button by the wall and had started the shower up above, wincing.

“Is that what that is?” Bucky asked, kneeling, defeated from all of the choices of bottles that didn’t make any sense.

With more button pushing, “Oh! It is now,” Sam grinned, moaning at the warmth and heavy fall. “What are you still doing here? Can’t remove my clothes with you here.”

“Your bandages?”

“ _What_?” Sam’s face dropped as he quickly and carefully peeled off the gauze on his face, the band-aids on his forehead, and the bandages on his hands, tossing them aside on the floor. “I can’t believe you let me swim with it!” He shut off the shower as Bucky walked over to pick them up, and for a moment, Sam’s eyes trailed Bucky’s bare stomach to the end of his towel.

Bucky narrowed his eyes. “Look away if you can’t pay.”

Sam snorted and looked away, and Bucky could see the wound clear as day, deep black inside the cut. “I think I’ve got some euros in my wallet. Want to get it for me, baby?”

“You-” Bucky sputtered, and Sam laughed, still not looking. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t,” and Sam turned around to see Bucky walking away and tossing away the bandages in the trash can near the sink. His voice was soft, careful as if an angel’s. “You love me.” He even looked proud of it. “You said it yourself.”

Bucky hummed at that, nodding, then he left, a hand on his towel around his waist as he shut the door. He tried his best not to lean against it once he closed it like the helpless romantic he was; his heart raced in his chest as he heard the pitter-patter of feet inside, then he made his way to his luggage.

Something had _definitely_ changed in their dynamic.

Bucky just couldn’t figure _what_.

Did Sam like him back? _He sees the way you look at him_ , and maybe Sharon was right, maybe there’s a reason why Sam saw it, saw how Bucky looked at him as if he hung the moon. Perhaps Sam also searched for it, for a sign that Bucky liked him back.

Like was a childish word, love was stronger, and adore was much more painful.

“I cherish,” Bucky whispered to himself once he pulled on some pajama pants and sat crisscross on the bed. He’s facing the wide balcony, seeing the night sky void of stars. The moon hung alone in the dark. “I _cherish_.” and for a moment, maybe the moon sparkled a little brighter from the words.

As he takes the left side of the bed away from the windows, already feeling sleep settled in him, he could make out Sam’s weight dipping right beside him. Sam had lifted and draped the blanket over them, and it’s nice, being like this, a little close to Sam and also not. He’s aching at the proximity and his admittance.

 _Did Sam know?_ Bucky thinks, and he slept that way, with the looming presence of Sam Wilson like a whisper of a kiss.

The next morning, it was utter bliss. It was just like what Bucky had imagined and more.

“You know, this is what I actually wanted,” Bucky said as he sat on the stool behind the kitchen island. Sam hummed at that, whisking eggs in front of him, pouring in the milk and a sprinkle of salt. “Not you cooking for me, of course, I thought I was gonna do that.”

Sam didn’t have his bandages on, letting his wounds breathe. He sighed, saying, “Didn’t want to wake you,” and he smiled, turning on the electric stove. “You wanna cook? I have some muffins in the oven, actually.”

“I was supposed to do that!” Bucky gasped, and he laughed, getting up to grab any food to cook in the fridge. “It’s a good thing this place is stocked, huh? Our little chef hearts can’t take it.”

The sizzling of Sam’s cooking sounded in the air as he stirred with a fork, leaning back. “Stark was in town. Told him to fill this up to the brim,” he spoke as if he was holding back. “What do you wanna make?”

“Pasta,” Bucky said, with such finality.

Sam snorted, turning off the heat and setting the pan elsewhere. “Pasta,” he repeated.

“Carbonara and Bacon,” as he said that, he already gathered all of the things he needed on the island and pushed them on his side of the table. “You just sit there, chérie. Eat your eggs.”

Sam shrugged and sat down on the other side of the island with his scramble eggs in a bowl. He’s already made a batter of pancakes and Bucky prepares the pan for that. Bucky’s true to his word and cooks for Sam. The sun rises from the other side of the kitchen through the wide glass sliding doors, and it’s just like New York, with the golden sun rays dancing on the kitchen countertop and Sam sitting on the counter, in a shirt that hugs him nicely while Bucky cooks for them, it’s as if they never left home.

He’s got the pasta boiling in a pot and the sauce in a pan, flipping pancakes on the other side. The pastry in the oven was about to be done in ten minutes, and Sam was drinking the orange juice he squeezed just this morning before dawn.

“How’d you sleep last night?” Bucky asked as he flipped another pancake done and set it on the stack that he had made on another plate. Sam shrugged, finishing his drink. “Want me to treat that cut for you?”

“Maybe later. I’m starving, jawline, you’re supposed to take care of me,” Sam groaned, arms on the table as he leaned over to see Bucky turning over the pasta in the water. “You’re _literally_ starving me here.” Just at that thought, Bucky had now started frying the bacon.

“Calm down, cheekbones,” Bucky said, setting down the last pancake stack on the plate as well as lowering the heat for the bacon. All of these wonderful smells filled the air. “Wanna taste the sauce? I made it myself while I was on the run.”

Sam grinned at that, leaning forward as Bucky takes a spoon and gets a little of the sauce. “Charming as always,” he said. “And which ‘on-the-run’ was this?”

“You were looking for me in the wrong places in Italy, now open up,” He said, a hand below the spoon as Sam tasted it.

As Sam licked his lips and hummed in approval, it was only then Bucky noticed how domestic all of this was. The cooking for your partner schtick, the easy banter, and the whole atmosphere of it. He’s frozen in place as Sam finished the spoon, taking it in his hands to play with. Bucky could do nothing but smile with an ache growing in his chest.

“You good?” Sam asked, pressing the face of the spoon to his lips with an arched eyebrow. The ping of the timer brought Bucky back into existence.

Bucky shook his head, turning around to hide his reddening face and to finish making their breakfast. “Yeah, yeah, I’m good. Eat your pancakes, Sammy.”

It ends there, but Sam laughed and it only seemed like the beginning.

Down in the fields in the archery range, Sam and Bucky were passing time before they had to go to a nearby town to eat lunch. The field of play was not really a proper range, just a proper distance and a line of targets in the distance. There were benches placed a few meters away from the hedges that divided the pool from the range. Sam was standing in position, playing around with the bow as Bucky inspected the arrows from the benches.

“How do you think they’re handling Captain America on a break?” Sam asked, raising his voice as he does so. There was no wind unlike yesterday, and the sky was quite dark with clouds. He pulled back the string, eyes squinted at the targets. “I doubt Steve left the apartment.”

“Swimmingly, I think. Tasha and Cattie are great together,” Bucky spoke, putting the arrows back into the quiver. He stood up and walked over to Sam who seemed to have fun playing pretend. “Want me to call them? We can charge them for the fare.”

Sam chuckled at that and nodded.

Bucky put Sam’s phone on speaker as Natasha picked up. He knew that she was one of Sam’s closest friends on the team, and as he sat back down on the grass looking up at the man with a smile, it didn’t matter apparently. His heart ached for some reason other than adoration, and it startled him for a moment.

“ _Hey, Wilson, you dorkass,_ ” She spoke, people murmuring in the background. “ _Did Bucky kiss you yet?_ ”

Sam ignored her and Bucky sputtering, only taking an arrow from the quiver by his feet. “Quick, I’m at the archery range and I forgot how to position my feet.”

“ _I’m paying with_ my _income for this? Just look it up, Sammy,_ ” she spoke with someone else in the background, then a few things clattering.

“She’s gone,” Bucky whispered to Sam.

“Don’t joke about that, Buck. I’m… I’m _not_ ,” _okay with that, we were gone, she was almost gone._ Sam shook his head. “I’m never gonna understand your weird as fuck relationship with her,” he said, setting the arrow to the right of the bow, pulling it at the slightest. “Complicated my ass.”

“Shit. Didn’t know you were jealous, sweetheart,” Bucky jokes, noticing all of the profanities. He set the phone down on the grass and stepped beside Sam, fixing the position of the arrow to the left, being careful of his wound. “There ya go, hun.”

With a mere glance from Sam, Bucky could feel himself grow weak at the knees.

“Jealous? I think you’re jealous of _me_. I flirted with Nat and lived,” Sam spoke, leaning into Bucky’s warmth. He’s still got his arms around the man, back to chest as Bucky guided Sam with gentle touches. “Not everyone can do that. You see the Hulk talking to her? Nah, he jumped to another planet, that’s what.”

“Always so humble, _Thomas_ ,” Bucky spoke Sam’s middle name with a French accent and that sent shivers down the man’s spine. Bucky had pulled back their intertwined hands on the feather of the arrow and released, and it hit a circle away from bullseye. “And I’m _far_ from jealous. Why would I be?”

 _I think you want Sam, and you wish you were Nat watching his six today,_ Steve’s words echoed dangerously in Bucky’s head. Bucky wished Sam was thinking about him instead of her oceans away. He staggered just a bit at the revelation.

Bucky’s lips brushed right at Sam’s ear, and even if it was an accident, Sam couldn’t help but shiver in delight. Their hands still intertwined, and Sam’s still yet to notice their arrow, but he’s here now, in the present, watching the way Bucky’s chest heaved and his blue eyes sparkle under the sunlight.

“Tasha is still on the phone,” Bucky whispered to Sam’s ear, then he’s snapped out of it.

Shoving the bow to Bucky’s arms, Sam moved quickly to sit on the grass with the phone in his hands. “Hey, Nat. Hi. I shot one, kinda,” he said, breathless and his breath staggering at the end as he smoothened out his long sleeve shirt. “Bucky taught me, I think. The arrow’s supposed to be on the left.”

“ _When you’re right-handed, yeah. Bucky’s left-handed though. Are you okay? You’re breathing so hard America could hear you._ ” She laughed at that. “ _Bucky kissed you yet?_ ”

Sam glanced at Bucky who was sitting crisscrossed right beside him, toying with the blades of grass. “No. N-No. What?” he laughed, kinda breathy. “Nat, shut up and never speak again.”

Bucky perked up at that. All that ran through his head were red hearts.

“ _I’m serious. It’s been like a day, aren’t you feeling the romance?_ ” And with that, Sam turned off the speaker and set the phone to his ear.

Gasping, Bucky smacked Sam’s knee. “I was listening! She’s my sorta friend too,” but Sam only stuck his tongue at him, making him scoff. “I mean, yeah, maybe it needs a little work and maybe therapy — _on my end, maybe_ — but still. Shit runs deep.”

But despite all of this honesty and bantering, Sam sighed heavily, his gaze landing at the far-middle distance. He’s gnawing on his bottom lip as he fiddled with his hands, saying with such sorrow, “Let’s pick flowers,” and it was as if the stars fell to Earth. “I need something to book press.”

What is Sam Wilson but a bundle of joy and wonder? Bucky thinks he’s a little bit difficult to understand, but if Sam lets you know him, drink it all up. Now, though, as they sit on the grass planets away from each other, Bucky never felt so confused and annoyed at Sam. The man was just sitting there, and Bucky couldn’t read him.

"Sam," Bucky spoke. "Tell me what's wrong."

Sam only pressed the phone to his ear. "No, Nat. Bye," he whispered, ending the call and tossing the phone away. "Nothing's wrong, Bucky. Just tired. I want to go to the woods."

"Is it me?" Bucky asked, and it hurts to say it.

“No,” but Sam said it a little too fast.

Bucky pouted, and Sam only looked at him with an unreadable expression. It’s just, they were _close_ , so close that Sam couldn’t believe it, couldn’t understand how it was so natural to be like that. It startled him, and for a split second, _he wanted it to be always_.

It may have scared Sam. Why wouldn’t he be? He’s lost so much, cracks in him that gold can’t glue together, he’s still building himself up from when he almost lost his two best friends. Just looking at Bucky, Sam knew his loss would devour him.

Sam quietly stood up and brushed his pants, and without another word, he began to walk away. Maybe for a moment, the look on his face when he walked into the woods wasn’t of quiet heartbreak but of hopeless romance. That would be nice, to have their hearts given a rest, but this is real life, and unfortunately, they have to talk it out.

Bucky followed him. Because he cared for Sam Wilson.

Bucky _cherished_ Sam.

As much as it ached him, Bucky had to follow Sam, to the woods, or to the ends of the world, he just would. It’s because his heart has tasted something beautiful that only comes once in a lifetime, and Bucky had been through too many lifetimes to lose this one. He’d let his soul become friends with him at the least, but years of pain never prepared him to fall in love so deeply, achingly torturous to let go, _so hold on_. To the woods or to the ends of the world, Bucky would cherish Sam, he’d promised himself so.

The woods were man-made, trees perfectly lined, and picked to grow on its own decades prior. The grass stood tall as a tiny worn dirt path led them deeper into the mass of nature, wildflowers, and rocks here and there brushing against their pant legs. Bucky made sure to make as little noise as possible, trailing behind Sam far away. If Sam knew Bucky was following him, he didn’t make it known. The man only went deeper, taking the straight path every time there was a fork in the road.

As the woods turned brighter in saturated red and orange, they arrived and settled under a Sessile Oak, standing tall into the sky. Sam made his home right between the patch of sunlight and shade, crisscrossed and unbothered, the midmorning sunlight dancing on his skin as if he was a flower soaking up the sun. And he did as he sat, nothing sorry in his head.

Bucky stood a few ways away from him, kneeling on the grass that tickled his elbow. He stared at Sam who was looking up with closed eyes, neither a frown nor a smile on his face, just the look of a man who wanted to let the river flow. “I always wondered how you could do that,” he spoke, carefully, letting the wind take the words closer to the man, but Sam didn’t make any reaction. Bucky sucked in a breath, letting his shoulders relax but he was tense, heart overwhelmed, it was hard to take a breath. “Looking like nothing bothers you. Nothing sorry in your head. How does it feel?”

Sam sighed, and heaven sighed as well. “Like a burden,” he said. He didn’t elaborate.

“I’d take it all,” Bucky spoke without missing a beat. He continued to watch Sam, who was now moving around to pick fallen orange leaves and the little lavender that grew beneath the tree. There were a few ferns and wild sage underneath the tree, hidden behind the rocks and more shrubbery, but Bucky thinks it only added more to the atmosphere, enveloping them into nature. “Are you okay, Sam?”

But Sam dodged the question, asked Bucky as he brushed his finger against a fallen oak leaf. “Are _you_?” he sounded sincere as if he actually cared. He’s sitting in between sun and shade again, then he looked up to meet Bucky’s eyes. The brown eyes were shadowed but half of them were glittering gold under the sunlight, half-lidded as he continued, “There’s something on your mind. It’s like you’re standing planets away from me and I can’t reach you.”

For a moment, Bucky thought maybe it was time, wondering if he could say something so boldly as his feelings, let all of this tension inside him go. _I cherish you, I cherish, I cherish you, Sam Wilson_. He sat there, forcing a smile at Sam who then only raised an eyebrow. He sits under the sun and shade, representing what is in-between — the in-between of Bucky’s heart, in between wanting and having, there sits Sam Wilson. The man represented everything Bucky could have and want but never both. He represented the love Bucky could crave but never let himself have, until now.

To tell you the truth, Bucky was terrified and at the same time excited. His heart has been racing to catch up to Sam and here they were, basking under the light of the moment they built for themselves. Every choice everyone and themselves made led them to this moment, and for Bucky, it meant more to him than anyone could comprehend because it meant that everything he did had turned into something beautiful.

“I love you, Bucky Barnes,” Sam spoke, and the world stopped.

Bucky could die at that moment. He shuddered a breath as he held a hand to his lips to cover his gasp, but he couldn’t help himself. His heart is hammering and flying and it’s everywhere at once — his heart’s in Brooklyn, Italy, Paris, _it’s not fair_. He felt like vomiting all of his feelings at that moment, ready to spurt every piece of adoration he could muster just so Sam could feel just as warm as he did. The sunlight pierces his skin and he feels like he’s burning on every Sun. Sam just sits there, looking at him, as if _he_ had sung the sun to sleep and morning.

“I love you, Bucky,” Sam spoke, and it only cemented into him, sounded more and more real every time he repeated it. “I don’t know how, but I do. I do, a-and, it’s not sudden, y’know? It’s as if I always knew. I always wondered… I wonder if it’s because of what you do to me or don’t,” then he smiled sadly, casting his eyes to the bundle of lavenders he collected. “I keep searching for the meaning but… I never really knew.”

“I…” Bucky shut himself up though, crawling on his knees and hands to move closer to Sam. The man didn’t meet his eyes, still toying with the petals and leaves of the things he collected. On his hands were purple bruises, and Bucky carefully ran his fingertips across them, ending up holding Sam’s hands and caressing them so slowly. “Sam, I… Funny thing is, I… I love you too. I-I cherish you, even, Sam Wilson,” then Bucky set a deep kiss on Sam’s wrist, the man now looking up. “I _cherish_ you. I-I want… You make me fall in love in ways I never knew I could.”

Sam’s fingers interlaced with Bucky’s as he whispered, “Tell me I’m not dreaming.”

A kiss on Sam’s ring knuckle and Bucky spoke. “You made me want to have friends, friends like Steve, Tasha, and Cattie. I never knew I could want a family until we’re sitting together and it’s just…” Bucky’s lips wandered to Sam’s other ring finger, then another kiss. “… perfect. You made me dance, in my room late at night thinking of you, you made me want to be with you all the time,” kisses on the hand trailing to the joint of Sam’s wrist. “you made me cherish our time together, you made me—” a kiss below the thumb and Bucky’s lips brushed over Sam’s bruises on his right hand. “— _want_ , want, want… I’m turning greedy just wanting. Never let anyone have you, I’m—” and a deep kiss on Sam’s left palm. “I’m _so_ in love with you, Samuel Thomas Wilson, I’m just wondering if I could— _You_ could want me too,” then Bucky sighed as he rested against Sam’s palm, closing his eyes, afraid of what Sam might say.

When Bucky opened his eyes, he saw Sam tearing up. Then, Bucky moved his hand to wipe them all away, only making Sam tear up even more. “ _You dork_ ,” he whispered into his ear, then he’s smiling, Bucky leaning towards it like a sunflower. “I cherish you, too.” His thumb caressed his cheek, and Bucky feels his knees wobbled under his weight. “I wanted you too.”

Bucky stretched his legs behind Sam and leaned forward, Sam sitting in between him. They’re under the in-between of the patch of sunlight and the shade of the tree, orange and red leaves falling in the breeze that began to pick up minutes before. "I want... I want this, and more of it,” he shook his head, Sam’s hands in his hands under his chin. “I don’t think you understand how hard this was for me… I don't want to think that I'm greedy just because I want to love someone, but sometimes I think I have so much love for you that it _borders_ on greed.

“I want to take care of you,” When Bucky said that, Sam perked up and smiled, so soft and bright it was as if the sky above them parted in half to reveal heaven; and Bucky had to stop himself, almost giddy. “Paris e-every day, holding you close to me. I want to hold your hand again, but in the marketplace, at home, everywhere, and then kiss you goodnight on the forehead, pinch your adorable cheeks and look at you like this. I want to breathe selflessly... I want to take care of you as I did with me- I want, I want you _so bad_.

“I want someone to approach me and ask who I am to you and I won't just say I'm Captain America's partner but also his boyfriend. I want this and so much more, Sam, I never knew I could want something that makes me so happy it turns back into sad." By the time Bucky finished, he found himself crying too, Sam wiping away tears with the palm of his hand. Bucky bit his lip and cast his eyes downwards, then he smiled when he realized why. “You make me so happy, Sam, first in a long time. I hope to make you happy the way you do to me.”

Sam sniffled, a hand to his lips as he cast his eyes elsewhere. “Just that?” he said, and they laughed, Sam, dropping his picked flowers and leaves to the ground to have his hands caress Bucky’s face.

Bucky found himself sniffling, smiling cheekily as he said. “Also, you’re very cute,” he pinched Sam’s wound free cheek as the man scrunched his face, enjoying the attention and care he’s getting. Bucky’s thumb brushed against the skin below Sam’s eye; then Sam closed his eyes as the sunlight moved to blind him from the brightness. For a moment, Bucky took a breath, reminding himself that this was his chance to finally _have_ this. “Can I… Can I kiss you, sweetheart?”

Leaning back into the shade, Sam opened his eyes, dark and beautiful, mischief brewing in those ocher irises. “Call me sweetheart again, then, yeah,” he spoke, lowly, leaning his weight against his hands, Bucky’s body following his.

He grinned. “Sweetheart,” Bucky whispered like a goddamn prayer, then he carried all of Sam’s weight into his lap and into the sunlight. Sam settled nicely into Bucky’s lap, eyes wide as he waited for Bucky to kiss him, heart racing right on their tongues. “Mon chéri.”

When they kissed, it was slow, loving, and this was just how Bucky wanted it. His heart is being given all the things he never knew he could have, and for now, he swallows it all, drinking in Sam’s love like a drunkard, head spinning from how good all of this was. Lips moved in sync as Bucky gasped Sam’s name like a prayer, worshipping, adoring. It’s nice like this.

Sam lets go and breathes in, setting his forehead against Bucky. The leaves fell from the skies and swirled in the air like snow. Bucky looked at Sam, the way his eyes were softly shut and the way he tried to catch his breath. Their bodies rocked together as they breathed, and Bucky hugged him closer, chest to chest, Sam nuzzling into his neck, it was all perfect.

“I cherish you,” Bucky whispered to Sam’s ear and kissed his neck. Sam hummed as Bucky leaned back into the grass, now carrying all of their weight as the sun made the edges of the leaves above them glow. A harsh breeze swept by, shaking the tree, then more red leaves fell. All Bucky did was inhale the scent of Sam who was still leaving kisses on his neck. “I cherish you, you know that? Know what that means?”

His sweetheart hummed, then said, “To hold dear.” Sam lifted his head to look at Bucky, resting his hands on his chest. He smiled, and Bucky melted into the Earth. “You both adore, love, and appreciate me, yeah? I do too.”

“You’re so smart, cheekbones,” he spoke, pinching Sam’s cheek. “Does… Does that mean we’re dating now?”

Sam snorted, ducking. “Take me out first.”

“Okay. Lunch in town. All the champagne you could drink,” Bucky sighed as he traced his fingers across Sam’s pretty face, being careful of all the cuts and bruises. Even like this, he was perfect.

“That sounds lovely, jawline.” Sam smiled, and his voice was softer than heaven’s touch. “Yeah, we’re dating now.”

Smiling, Bucky flipped them over so he could hover over the man, elbows either side of him as Sam laughed under him. Their lips met once again, and this time, it was Sam who whispered adoration, how much he’s been waiting for a moment like this, how many stargazing nights he had endured finding a moment like this, what moments he had to puppeteer to create one like this. Bucky kissed him like it was all worth it, kissed him like this was the good day he’d die on, kissed him, kissed, _kiss._

 _Shut up_ , he whispered before taking Sam’s lips into his, setting his weight into Sam’s. Sam wrapped his arms around his neck, letting go to say, _No_. It’s anticipation when Bucky brought him closer, bringing Sam with him as they sat up, the man in his lap again; the anticipation of wanting more, always gonna have more, fueling Bucky. When Sam sighed, it’s the anxiety of waiting that slipped off of his shoulders. They have what they want, and it’s perfect.

“You know,” Sam spoke, now sitting beside Bucky in the in-between of shade and sunlight. Bucky was lying on the grass propped up on his elbows, looking up at Sam like he had hung the moon. “since we weren’t able to sleep under the stars last night,” he picked up the lavender he had picked prior and placed it behind Bucky’s ear, the man still looking up at him as if his words were Gospel. “Maybe we could stay here for a while?”

Bucky didn’t realize he could fall deeper in love until that moment.

“I’d love that, Sam,” Bucky said, and he takes them both down, to the grass and into each other — to breathe freely. “I’d absolutely adore that.”

So, Bucky Barnes actually wanted a lot of things, things that had to do with Sam Wilson. He wanted to love him, take care of him, bring him on dates, call him cutesy pet names, kiss him all over, and everything in between. Bucky wanted to stay true to his word and cherish him, hold him underneath the sunlight so the man could feel warm because he deserved nice things like feeling warm; love him the way he loved himself.

Nice to touch and easy to embrace, Sam was everything that Bucky never knew he could want and have. If you told him ten years ago that he would ever find himself falling in love with a man as incredible as Sam Wilson, he wouldn’t even understand the word “ _love_ ” let alone “ _want_.” As Bucky sits here beside him, he never knew a time before that. Time seemed to ebb like the pool, and Sam’s glowing completely pampered in euphoria. Bucky is too, absolutely enraptured by the moment to resurface.

Bucky wanted to give Sam everything that he ever wanted. He knew what it felt like, to finally have something you never thought could have; it’s like heaven fell to Earth and kissed you awake, welcoming you to a world you never knew you could explore. It’s devastatingly amazing and it’s turned into a tragedy with the way you cherished it so much.

Cherish, _God_ , Bucky cherished Sam. Cherish meant to hold Sam’s hand in his and never let go, to admire and adore in ways you never knew you could, understand how beautiful it is. It meant that he could adore what he wants and _wants, wants, wants_. Bucky’s kissing sunlight patches on Sam’s skin into existence as if he’s leaving flowers in its wake. It’s meant to be nourishing, and when you nourish, you take care of them, and when you take care of them, it tells them that you cherish them; never letting go.

When he turned his head to face Sam, he looked at him as if he had hung the moon and the stars. Sam’s basking in the sunlight tracing shapes on Bucky’s chest and when he opened his eyes, he looked at him as if he had sung the sun to morning.

 _It’s okay now_ , Bucky thinks as Sam kisses him on the temple, whispering his name like an offering. And at that moment, he felt like someone wanted him too.

**Author's Note:**

> ah yes. paris fics. the most intimate of settings but i have not even reached its full potential. will probably make more in 2021
> 
> also if someone said they cherished/adore me i will die idc i will love them
> 
> hey, this took a lot of time and care to write and is my longest one shot so far :D and considering this'll be my last fic this year, i wanna know what yall think, so please do leave a comment. it would mean the world to me 
> 
> tumblr is [@honestlyfrance](https://honestlyfrance.tumblr.com/). i have more works because im non stop. love you all 💖


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